


you and me, together

by englishsummerrain



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Future Fic, M/M, Minor Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le, Non-Linear Narrative, Weddings, but more homophobia as a reality of the industry, involuntary outing, sort of homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-22 08:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22713403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishsummerrain/pseuds/englishsummerrain
Summary: He's so fucking scared. He's almost as scared as he'd been when he'd first seen the photos, when he'd first walked out of the SM building to a press scrum that had seemed like it was going to swallow him up, a great roaring beast with fangs shaped like microphones and a thousand gleaming camera lenses for eyes. He's so scared, but it's not because of what other people have done.He's scared because he's in love, and more than anything — he’s scared this might have been worth it.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan
Comments: 80
Kudos: 394
Collections: WIP OLYMPICS: WINTER 2019/20





	you and me, together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thereisnoreality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisnoreality/gifts).



> for niz and vivi, who both never stop talking about weddings. this is just a fic about love, and all that it costs.
> 
> note: in case the tags weren't clear this fic deals with people being outed against their permission (in this case the outing is by paparazzi). i wasn't sure how to tag this, so i'm putting it here too, as i know it could be potentially triggering.

“You know they’re going to make us dance Chewing Gum,” Renjun says. Chenle looks up from his phone, the white leather couch creaking under his weight. They’re in a high rise hotel room in Gangnam — one that would normally afford a clear view of the Seoul skyline were it not swallowed by a haze of smog. It's Renjun's third time in Korea in as many years, and all the emotions he thought he'd left behind are swimming back to him. This low ache in his heart at how much he misses every member of NCT, how he misses being on the stage.

The low ache at everything else that had happened.

“Shut the fuck up,” Chenle says, his arms already tugging in the motions of the song like he’s a puppet on a string. He throws his head back and cackles and Renjun can’t help but join in, shoulders shaking. Chenle’s joy has always been — will always be — infectious. He's missed it so much. “You really think so?” he asks.

“Duh,” Renjun says. Years and years later, three groups behind him, one dropped contract, a whole solo career, and none of them will ever, ever escape it.

Two months ago Jeno had danced it happily behind the microphone of his cushy host job. Last week, one of the kids in Renjun’s dance class had waddled up to him, shy and asked him if it was true he was a pop star.

“Of course,” Renjun had said.

“Can you sing me a song?”

Renjun had started it without thinking. Not his solos. Not his duet with Donghyuck — ironically the last song he’d ever recorded in South Korea. Chewing Gum. Where it all started.

“If they don’t make us, I’ll do it myself,” Renjun says. “Someone has to embarrass Mark.”

Chenle laughs, again. "Some things really do never change, huh?"

  
  


*

  
  


Mark is the fourth of them to get married.

Jaemin is first. Of course. The family man, the charmer. Sungyee is one of the prettiest girls Renjun has ever seen, with a wicked sense of humour and the patience of a saint. The only person who could have ever possibly put up with Jaemin, ever not be worn down by his constant barrage of teases and puppy eyes.

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” Renjun had asked, seriously, when she’d shown him the ring on her wedding finger. She’d laughed and raised her eyebrows at him, like he was a fool to ever doubt her.

“You should ask Jaemin the same thing.”

Her and Jaemin had met on the set of a drama. It had been at first sight, apparently — an irritating deluge of praise from Jaemin’s end that dominated every conversation for the next three months, until Jeno had threatened bodily harm at Jaemin if he didn’t just ask her out.

The rest was — as they say — history. It had been a private wedding, less than 30 of them. Close friends and family. And Jaemin, and Sungyee, the two of them shining, so deeply in love it made Renjun’s heart ache.

“That’ll be us, one day,” Donghyuck had said, holding his hand as the couple had exchanged rings. He was right, of course. A bittersweet prophecy, circumstances they never could have guessed.

  
  


*

  
  


Four glasses of wine in at the reception and Renjun is a little tipsy — always the lightweight. Jaemin, Jeno and Jisung have moved to the 127 table — Jaemin has Taeil’s oldest daughter balanced on one knee and Joonmyun’s youngest on the other, and he’s cooing at them while Jeno grins. Jungwoo is doing tricks with the napkins, much to Jisung’s delight.

“He took up origami a few months ago,” Chenle says, a wistful sigh on the end of his words. In his suit — midnight ocean blue, piercings glittering on his ears like stars — he looks stupid handsome. Renjun is always shocked at how well Chenle grew up — they’d always teased him as the hidden visual, but now, all of them in their late twenties, half of them with wedding rings heavy on their fingers, well — it’s not so hidden anymore. He glows in the lighting of the hall, the flowers attached to the back of his chair fanning out behind him like nymphs wings.

Chenle tips the last of his wine into his mouth and sighs. “Was it worth it?”

Renjun considers playing dumb — but he knows it’s worthless to. He mimics Chenle, presses his lips to the edge of his glass just to buy a second to think, and Chenle’s gaze lingers on his finger — on the ring he and Donghyuck had picked out two years ago in a San Francisco jewellers after they’d broken their contracts with SM. The whirlwind of media frenzy had been hell, and paranoia had followed Renjun wherever he went — but the rings had been a promise. A forever and ever, that despite all this they still had each other.

He doesn't need to ask what 'it' is, either. Not when Chenle has told him so boldly through his laughter, through the way he leans into Jisung and smiles, the way even now they're near inseparable.

“Not in the way I did it,” Renjun says. "I would never do it again. It was a nightmare."

The wine is strong — or maybe it’s because he’s too drunk to know anything else. Chenle is staring at Jisung, again, and Renjun knows the end to this. The same conversation they have every few months, down a phone call in opposite time zones. Chenle wanting to give it all up for the sake of love.

For the kind of love that consumes you. That makes it seem like nothing else matters.

Renjun knows, he knows.

"But was it worth it?"

No judgement. No forcefulness. Just curiosity. A boyish dream that love might conquer all.

"You don't have to sacrifice your career for it, Chenle, please. I would have done it differently. I wouldn't have hurt anyone, I wouldn't have… done a lot of what I did. You have to understand— "

"It's been fourteen years," Chenle says.

"I know."

"And I—"

"Still love him," he finishes. He sighs and holds out his hand. “I know, Chenle. I’d be blind to miss it.”

“We got back together,” Chenle says, small. The music changes, and on the dance floor Mark and Donghyuck argue over who will take the lead for the song. Minsoo — Mark's wife — is dancing with Mark’s mom, her hair glittering with diamonds.

"Here's what you do," Renjun says. He clasps Chenle's hands in his. "You listen to me, okay. Don't you ever stop loving him. Don't ever, ever stop, for any reason that isn't your own. You take him to every movie premiere. You keep a room for him in your house. You tell him you love him at every opportunity. You make it obvious, but you never tell them. Okay? You can love him and kiss him and build a life with him, but you don’t ever make it public."

It’s what he wished he could have done — the choice that was stolen from him.

"Why is it so fucking unfair,” Chenle says, voice thick. “Why can Mark get married? Why can Jaemin? Why do I have to live in the fucking shadows for the rest of my life? I want the world to fucking know. I love him so much it hurts, and I'm just supposed to keep it to myself?"

"I know," Renjun starts. In front of them Ten rests his head on his boyfriend's shoulder, his eyes shut. All of them were in the same boat, at some point or another. At least Ten was smarter than them both — made the choice to date a civilian instead of someone tangled up in this industry. He makes a mental note to thank him, again, for everything he’s done for them.

He looks back at Chenle. "You don't live in the shadows. You live here. You live with us. You live as bright as you ever have. You don’t have to hide — you just don’t say it.”

Chenle stares at him long and hard, eyes watery.

“You have a choice," Renjun says. "I would give anything for that.”

  
  


*

  
  


There’s twenty-two missed calls on his phone when Renjun wakes up.

It’s 7:26am on August 26, 2025.

His life is, effectively, over.

  
  


*

  
  


“Don’t go on Twitter. Don’t go on Instagram. Don’t go on Weibo. Don’t go on the internet, full stop,” Sooyun says as she pours a cup of coffee into a thermos and shoves it into his hands. “Just don’t do it.”

She’s a new manager — afforded by Renjun’s numerous solo schedules, and he likes her a lot. She’s only a few years older than him, with little tolerance for bullshit — more like an older sister than a staff member.

Renjun manages to listen to her warning until he’s waiting in the car park for her to get the van. The thermos is too hot for him and he tucks it into the pocket of his dressing gown to chance at a glance at his phone. He's glad he’d turned the ringer off. Twelve more missed calls. Three from Chenle. One from manager Shin. One from Taeyong. The rest are numbers he doesn’t recognise. The China Line wechat is blowing up with messages from Junhui and Yanan. He opens it and scrolls up to see a Dispatch link and taps on it without a second thought.

_Idol Couple NCT Renjun and Haechan_

Renjun’s lucky his stomach is empty, otherwise he’s pretty sure he would have thrown it up all over his slippers.

  
  


*

  
  


“I thought we had a fucking deal with Dispatch. Lee Sooman has all the fucking money in the world to stop this, there’s no way he would have let this through, I swear to fucking god.”

It scares Renjun, almost. He’s never heard Sooyun swear this much — never so violently, never that she punches the dashboard, is cursing to the high heavens the entire drive to the SM building. Renjun is torn between trying to glean the story from her and just staring out the window at the hazy grey Seoul skyline. He’s sick to his stomach and the world seems to be floating by in slow motion, like everything is a dream. Like he hasn’t quite processed it.

"Someone fucking has it out for us, this is fucking targeted, right before the comeback too, this is unreal. Completely unreal." They stop at a red light and she slams her hand into the steering wheel again, knocking the horn before she slumps in the driver's seat, panting.

"Sorry Renjun," she says, shaking her head.

"It's okay."

She glances at him and smiles. "Yeah. It'll be okay."

  
  


*

  
  


There’s crowds of fans outside the building and the two of them have to shove their way through, Sooyun holding Renjun in front of her like he’s a child. Someone grabs his arm. People shout his name. He keeps his head down and tries to maintain a neutral face, but he knows if he thinks too much about it everything will unravel.

“How could you?” someone cries.

Bodyguards come to help them through halfway up the footpath and Renjun almost throws up again when he enters the front doors. His stomach is raw and he feels so sick, feels woozy, pinpoints of light dancing in front of him as he stumbles to the elevator. Sooyun wraps her arms around him and stares at the employee who tries to enter with them until he backs down and waits for the next lift to come, and they ride up in silence.

The last time he was in this office was when they made the formal choice to turn Dream into a fixed unit. At this point that’s almost five years ago, and funnily enough not much has changed since then. A few photographs swapped out. Some newer signed albums. A new chair and more clutter on the desk. Their CEO sits opposite him, along with a couple of directors and Lee Sooman, who gives him an apologetic smile. Renjun’s pretty sure he’s still wearing his pajama shirt — which is a step up from the dressing gown and slippers Renjun’s in.

There’s a stack of six photos on the desk like a contract. On the laptop screen beside him, Donghyuck is bleary eyed, still on tour in Japan with 127. His bed head sticks up at strange angles. The hotel wallpaper is burgundy. Taeyong’s hand rests on Donghyuck’s shoulder, and in the corner of the camera he can see the edge of his knee. Two minutes in, Mark will join them.

Renjun will always remember this moment.

The first two photos are blurry. They’re dated earlier this year — February — in the middle of the promotions he, Donghyuck, Jaehyun and Johnny had been doing with NCT U. He and Donghyuck are standing outside a club in Gangnam. He’s wearing a black puffer jacket and a facemask, his cap pulled down so low that only the tops of his cheeks are visible. His hair is a faint, faded blue, closer to gunmetal than the peacock teal they had originally chosen for him. Beside him is Donghyuck. He’s not wearing his hat, taken off so he can smooth down the top of his hair — fiery red. Again. The same colour they always choose, like rose petals and cupid’s arrow. He’s turned towards the camera, and his eyes are wide. There’s two people on either side of them, one of Donghyuck’s old friends from SOPA, and producer Lee, though both their faces are blurred.

The second photo is in the same location. It’s so grainy that if not for the reference of the first photo, he wouldn’t even realise it’s the two of them. They’re standing in an alleyway, beside a ‘closed’ sign for a restaurant, swaddled in the shadow of a broken vending machine. The angle is so impossibly high Renjun thinks it must have been taken from at least 20 floors up, and it’s through the grace of this height that it’s impossible to tell that he’s kissing Donghyuck. It just looks like their faces are close together, that Donghyuck is holding his cheeks.

He sucks a breath in through his teeth and puts it on the table.

The next one is nearly two years old. December, 2023. It’s almost entirely white, struck through with black smudges of what he suspects might be coat hangers due its location in one of the dressing closets at Music Bank. The door is shut. Renjun’s hair is black, and Donghyuck’s is crimson, the colour of pomegranate juice dripping off a cup’s lip. There’s a black line across the lower half of their bodies, hiding them from the stomach down.

Just as well.

Renjun’s back is flat against the wall, his head thrown back, his face very clearly defined, eyes shut. His shirt is pushed up slightly, and the top of Donghyuck’s head, like the curve of a ripe cherry, is just visible.

Some perv had tried to catch girls undressing and instead —

“No,” Renjun says. He drops the stack back on the desk. “No.”

The silence in the room is deafening, doing nothing to help the panic that swells within him like a blister, ripe to be popped. He wants to throw up, wants to crawl under the desk, wants to hide, wants to go back ten years and pretend this never happened. He wants to never debut, to never meet Donghyuck, to never ever…

"These aren't real, right?" he says. He looks to Sooyun, pleading, to Lee Sooman, to the directors beside him.

"We're trying to deny them," Sooyun says, soft.

“I mean, they can’t do that,” Renjun says. “They can’t do that, can they? Just take photos like that?”

One of the staff members fans the last three out.

Him and Donghyuck, in the lobby of a hotel in Jeju. They’re wearing dark glasses and facemasks, but the rings they had exchanged for their 5th debut anniversary are visible. Donghyuck is kissing his cheek. Their hands are linked.

The same hotel. Donghyuck wearing a bathrobe, sitting on the edge of the bed. Renjun is standing in front of him, his back to the camera, a towel wrapped around his waist, the dragon tattoo that slumbers on his right shoulder clearly visible.

The two of them in bed. Renjun’s tattoo, again, gives him away. There’s no doubt that he’s kissing Donghyuck now. There’s no doubt. There’s —

He looks up at Sooyun, at Donghyuck — Taeyong clinging on to one side of him and Mark on to the other. There’s tears glittering on his face, and their eyes meet, pleading.

“What do I do?”

  
  


*

  
  


Falling in love wasn't, as the name implied, a fall. For Renjun it was more of a climb. Rung by rung, until he was on top of the world. Until it was him and Donghyuck, dancing in this haze that made their limbs sweet and their hearts fond. That made everything okay when they were around each other.

The first time they kissed was the night Donghyuck got home from Mexico, from his first world tour. It was sticky and humid, moisture beading in the air, and Renjun was full of longing, with an ache at the perpetual waiting of Donghyuck's absence.

He'd kissed him, touched him, fell into the sheets with him, the two of them tangled together. And from then on, they became unbreakable. Going around the world together. Kissing in dressing rooms. Long distance phone calls across oceans, sharing hotel beds and daydreaming about their lives. They were careful, of course. Understood what this industry was like, were under no illusions to what the consequences of their relationship would be.

It had started with sex, and it had ended with love. It had made Renjun reckless — made him dizzy.

And in the end — it had ruined him.

  
  


*

  
  


“Temporary hiatus.”

Donghyuck drops his bag beside Renjun’s. It hits the floor like a coffin door slamming shut. He arrived from Japan an hour ago, to one of the largest press scrums Renjun had ever seen.

“It’s fucking over,” Renjun says. Donghyuck’s hand hovers a whisker’s length from his shoulder, then comes down.

“It’s not,” Donghyuck says. His voice quivers. “They’ll give it a while to calm down. Six months. A year, maybe. Maybe we’ll have to leave NCT. But it’s not over. It’s not.”

He’s optimistic. Dangerously so. The floor feels like it’s about to open up and swallow Renjun, but Donghyuck still has that spark in him — that tiniest flash of positivity that had kept them afloat so many times.

“Leave NCT?” Renjun laughs, near hysterical. “We have nothing but NCT.”

"We're trying to deny it the best we can," Sooyun says. She looks tired even though it's the start of the day. Jeno and Jisung had arrived at the building an hour ago, along with manager Dohyun. Jaemin is on set for a drama. Chenle is in Beijing.

"You're not leaving NCT," Jisung says. He’s standing opposite them, arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face. He keeps yawning and then shaking his head, as if it’ll shake the exhaustion from his bones. Renjun’s pretty sure he was up all night playing video games with Chenle. "If you leave NCT, _I'll_ leave NCT."

“You can’t leave NCT,” Renjun says, even though he knows Jisung could. Jisung could do anything, get away with murder. SM's ace, their golden boy. He’s Lee Taemin reborn.

"NCT might be over."

"NCT is never over," Renjun laughs. "I mean, isn't that the point? We're all replaceable. Replace me."

Jeno, of all people, is the one to punch him. "Don't you dare," he says. He’s serious, deadly serious, not the no fun Jeno, but the Jeno who speaks his heart, the Jeno who knows things, speaks only with words that he believes his utmost. “Don’t you dare act like you’re not the heart and soul of this group. Don’t you dare act like you’re replaceable.”

Donghyuck’s fist curls in the fabric of Renjun’s shirt. He feels so small, feels like he’s falling away by the second. Shrinking into blackness, shriveling into nothing.

“I don’t,” Renjun says. “Not to you guys. But to the public, sure? Right?”

“We’ll work it out,” Jeno says. “It’ll be okay, Renjun. Both of you. It’ll be okay.”

Their voices come from space, and he doesn’t talk anymore. He just leans into Donghyuck, buries his face in his hoodie and watches the bodies flit around the room — Sooyun on her phone, Jisung and Jeno alternating their touch on his arm to try keep him grounded. People come and go — staff he’d never noticed before, Jeno’s manager, Jisung’s manager. Kun, the only WayV member currently in Korea. Talking heads and moving bodies — and in the center of it all, slowly circling the drain, are him and Donghyuck.

  
  


*

  
  


Their contracts are terminated in late December, after four months of isolation and only leaving the dorm in the middle of the night. It’s a mutual decision. Between every TV station’s choice to bar the two of them from broadcast and the general misery that’s begun to settle on Renjun’s brain like a black rot, it’s the best course of action. Riding the wave out seems impossible, and as the days stretch on and the snow starts to fall — it seems foolish. They offer him other options — working behind the scenes, ghostwriting. Fading from the public eye. But it’s impossible. All of Korea knows who they are — as long as they’re there, they’ll never escape it, this weight hanging over them like a sword with the blade on the tip of their necks.

It hits him when he gets back to the dorm. He’s still in a haze — still underwater, like he’s been for months — but he realises it’s happening. They’d both signed their names on the dotted line and they were no longer a part of NCT — no longer a part of SM Entertainment.

Half their lives in this industry, and the chapter had closed just like that. Renjun sits down on the floor, holds his head in his hands and starts to cry, and he doesn't stop for a long time.

  
  


*

  
  


They say goodbye with a party — with dinner ordered in and every single member of NCT present. Their sunbaenims and juniors join too — the whole practice room, set up with fold out tables and chairs pulled from different floors of the building. Renjun’s pretty sure the company doesn’t approve but Renjun’s also pretty sure he doesn’t give a shit. He’s two steps away from falling apart, and it’s the last thing he could be afforded. To eat takeout in a practice room he’d once sweat blood in, to laugh with his friends one last time.

“It’s not the last time,” Taeyong says. He’s piss drunk and has been clinging on to Donghyuck and whining for most of the night. Donghyuck laughs and shrugs his shoulder.

“You want to punch out all the press that’s gonna crowd us if they even catch wind of us crossing the border?”

“I will,” Taeyong says. “Wish I could punch them all out right now.”

“It’s a bit late for that.”

Renjun drops a half eaten dumpling onto his plate by accident and the filling spills out.

“I’d still do it," Taeyong says. "It’s not fair. Idols date all the time! It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Renjun says. Donghyuck glances over at him and gives him a smile — small, almost lost in the chaos of the room, in the music wafting from the speakers and the reflections shifting in the floor length mirrors. “But it’s just how it is.”

  
  


*

  
  


There's press at the airport and a few daring fansites, but otherwise their departure from Korea is with little fanfare. Airside they sit outside their gate together and Donghyuck grips Renjun's hand so tight he thinks it might fall off, but he understands. They're coping in different ways — Renjun still barely fit within the confines of his body, Donghyuck grasping on to him for dear life. It's all they have left anymore — just each other, the only constants in this insane world. Their lives have been turned inside out and Renjun feels paranoia seeping into him — every onlooker someone who could plaster their faces across the internet. Every camera, every phone — something that could ruin his life, as if it hasn't already been ruined.

Outside the windows of Incheon Airport Terminal 2, the snow falls like ash. There's a thin layer of white cast over the runways like icing sugar and a few icicles hang off the plane wings. In the haze he can barely make out the faces of SuperM plastered on the side of one of the jets — their coloured hair splotches like winking Christmas lights. Renjun tries to pick out Mark's face and apologise to him one last time.

Inside, Donghyuck rests his head on Renjun's shoulder and tells him he loves him.

And there's that. They do still have their love. The love Renjun thought could end worlds. How right he was.

*

  
  


They make it to America. They make it through customs, four suitcases stuffed into the back of a taxi. It's near sundown when they arrive and as they sit in the traffic outside SFO the world turns gold, brilliant streaks of a firey sunset breaking across the grey concrete of the highway.

"You boys on holiday?" the driver asks.

"No," Donghyuck says. Years of American promotion with 127 have done him well — his English is accented but near fluent, certainly enough to make up for Renjun's poor speaking skills. Enough that Renjun doesn't really tune into the conversation, just watches the metaphorical flames licking up at everything around them.

Their apartment is empty, stark white walls, a few dust bunnies huddling in the corners. They order takeout and eat it on the bare floors, cross legged, straight from the box with disposable chopsticks and splatters of sauce dropped on the hardwood. It's not much. It's not much but it's a new start. It's still the two of them and all this is theirs, and though Renjun doesn't believe it, he hopes that it's enough.

  
  


*

  
  


The sky is azure and the sea breeze whips around them, thick with salt and the chatter of tourists. In the background the Golden Gate bridge stretches across the harbour, looking absolutely impossible. He’s cried twice today — once over breakfast, once again when he went to pick clothes and found the candy Jeno must have stuffed into his hoodie when he was helping him pack.

Donghyuck turns to him with a strange look on his face — and that marks the third time. The waves crash against the harbour edge and an eighteen wheeler honks its horn and the insects buzz like a dreadful orchestra and then:

"Let's get married," Donghyuck says.

It’s plain and simple, clear as day, three words to change his life. Three words they’d only dreamed about, that had seemed like a distant wish of two kids in love. Three words that Renjun realises with a dizzying clarity that they can make real. 

There’s nothing stopping them anymore.

Renjun kisses him. He kisses him in public, in the west coast sunshine where no-one bats an eye. No-one cares. They're just two people in love, not K-pop stars fleeing the collapse of their careers. They're not Haechan and Renjun. They're just themselves, and it's not just a proposal —

  
  


*

  
  


Donghyuck holds up the ring, simple silver with no markings.

"It's a promise," he says. The interior of the jewellery shop is cool with AC and there’s goosepimples all along the back of Renjun’s neck, his heart thudding in his ears.

"Hell or high water," Donghyuck continues. "We're in this forever. I want to be in this forever. As long as I have you, it makes it okay, right?"

"It's more than okay."

He's so fucking scared. He's almost as scared as he'd been when he'd first seen the photos, when he'd first walked out of the SM building to a press scrum that had seemed like it was going to swallow him up, a great roaring beast with fangs shaped like microphones and a thousand gleaming camera lenses for eyes. He's so scared, but it's not because of what other people have done.

He's scared because he's in love, and more than anything — he’s scared this might have been worth it.

  
  


*

  
  


The only people who can make the ceremony are Mark and his mother. Donghyuck's parents can't get time off, and Renjun isn't sure his mama's heart could take another 12 hour flight. He promises her lots of photos and she reluctantly accepts, grumbling about how she can't believe she's missing her son's wedding.

Mark tells SM he's visiting family and catches a connecting flight from Vancouver. A bold faced lie, the only kind Mark would ever tell, the kind that belies the size of his heart — how much he loves Donghyuck, that he'd stand up and go against his morals just to be here. Or maybe this was his morals — family above everything. His best friends, above everything.

"Mom wouldn't let you get married alone," Mark says, when he introduces her to them. Donghyuck doesn't answer — he just hugs Mark so fiercely Renjun wonders if he'll ever let go.

  
  


*

  
  


Come the wedding day they're not the only ones waiting at the City Hall. They check in at the reception and present their marriage license (the one Donghyuck had made him double, triple check he had with him) and then wander through to the rotunda. The building is stunning — wide open domed ceilings, marble floors and granite columns, sunlight streaming in from every direction. Figures and flowers are carved into the walls, every inch planned with meticulous detail — a flare of architecture, a carving clutching a sword, a wreath surrounding a seal, columns cut into columns.

It's six minutes for each wedding, and on the upper floor of the rotunda they're one of four couples waiting. There's so many people here with cameras — wedding photographers, tourists, family members — and every time one swings his way Renjun has to fight his instinct to hide.

"It's okay. Just smile," Donghyuck says. He's all dressed up, suit and bow tie, hair done so similar to the way they'd looked when they'd last walked the red carpet together for one of Jaemin's movie premieres. He's beautiful, breathtaking — the boy Renjun fell in love with all grown up.

"Sorry I have a lingering fear of cameras," Renjun says. Donghyuck elbows him, then grins and leans in to press a peck to his lips.

"I know. I just want something nice for your mother."

"Not for you?"

"I get to see you every day for the rest of my life. One day doesn't make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things, does it?"

"It's our _wedding_ ," Renjun says. One of the other couples leaning against the balcony beside them is called over. The bride is wearing a seafoam coloured dress and her dark hair is scattered with something glittering. She gives him a smile as she leaves, and he returns it, feeling a spark of warmth ignite inside of him.

It's then that it really hits him that — holy shit — he's getting married. Not some sham marriage performed by a very drunk Chenle at 2 am. A real, honest to god legally binding marriage to Donghyuck, with their only witnesses Mark and his mother. They're in this beautiful building in the heart of San Francisco, in suits they once wore on a red carpet, and they're about to get married, for real and forever.

It all explodes within him, this roar in his ears, this thud in his heart, this fire that surges all up through his chest, an indescribable feeling, an urge to go to the ends of the Earth, to find new stars and name them after Donghyuck. To write songs about him and yell it from the rooftops, to shout it until his lungs are raw, hold him in his arms until he falls to dust. This pure and utter love, this devotion that has led him across oceans, that has caused collapse and threatened to fill his lungs — that became the air in those lungs even as he was sinking to the bottom of the sea.

They've spent ten years together, and maybe it was all leading up to this. Maybe there was a red string around their ankles after all (Donghyuck's voice in his head — ' _It's the pinky_ '). Maybe it was tugging them close, putting them on a collision course. Renjun thought he didn't believe in fate, but Donghyuck makes him believe. Donghyuck makes him believe in everything — in wonder, in beauty, in the power of true love. In the fact that there was someone out there made for him — carved from different stone but born under the same stars. Meant to complete him — the two of them whole without each other, but together something infinitely more.

"What?" Donghyuck says. He raises an eyebrow. Renjun's smiling — he can't help it. How could he help it? It's the darkest time of his life, he's standing in the rubble of the career he'd built up for so long and — Renjun is happy.

*

  
  


"But was it worth it?" Chenle asks, again.

Mark's wedding swims back to him, cheesy slow song playing on the speakers, lights low. Donghyuck's head is resting on Mark's shoulder and he's looking straight at Renjun, eyes dark and watery. Renjun's gaze flicks to his wedding band — his hand splayed across Mark's back, then back up, and Donghyuck smiles.

_Come on_ , he mouths.

_Give me a minute._

Donghyuck nods and blows him a kiss.

"It was," Renjun start, turning back to Chenle. "It was terrible and full of horror but — "

He looks over the room — at everyone in it, all the people he loves. At Jisung and Jungwoo, feeding each other eclairs, at everyone's children. Little girls in pink satin dresses dancing with their fathers, boys in tiny tuxedos boogieing to their own beat. Jaemin and Sungyee, staring into each other's eyes. Mark's mom, who had been there for them because no-one else could make it. This family that had included him, no matter what had happened, no matter if the world told him he wasn't allowed to be like this.

"But I love him. And I love you guys. I lost my choice, but you have yours. I can't tell you what to do with that."

Chenle smiles at him, knowing. Gives a nod of his head and turns around to look at where Jisung is smearing cream across Jungwoo's cheek, his eyes full of fondness. The song slows down as it nears it's end, singer whispering one last plea for love — for everything to last forever.

"Now come on," Renjun says. "We're at a wedding. Shouldn't we dance?"

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/dongrenle)/[curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/goldhorn)


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